I left Queretaro on my way to Puerto Escondido. Of course, there was to be two days of riding before reaching the ocean. First stop: Puebla. I actually stayed in a little town called Cholula outside of Puebla, where I found online a cheap but clean and great hotel. Looking for food I drove aimlessly towards the lights and found a restaurant called Wings Army! It was perched on a second floor, in a mini mall with a view on a church built upon a pyramid, I kid you not! Apparently the invading Spaniards annihilated the previous civilization’s culture by building their proper house of their god up top of the infidels’ weird construction, like stepping on their throats… 

The restaurant theme was hilarious, the wait staff wore army fatigues and  there were all kind of war paraphenelia throughout such as a World War Two relic of a Jeep at the entrance, amusing and incongruous. The place was busy with families and tourists so I decided to eat my chicken wings sitting at the bar. Numerous hanging TVs were broadcasting an NFL game, it was the fourth quarter and the Bengals lost I think? Not much into football myself, but the patrons in this restaurant seem to be, again to each its own. The next morning I drove into the center of Puebla. I was told this a beautiful city, but I immediately regretted the visit. The traffic was horrendous. There was roadworks everywhere, and I got caught behind buses and huge trucks spewing their toxic fumes for what seemed an eternity. It took me about an hour to get to the Centro for what amounted to just a quick photo stop in front of the Zocalo the center of the historical city. 

Of course it was pretty, nice churches yada yada yada… but as I said earlier, I am not a tourist, I’m just a traveler. I still have to take photos and little videos for the folks back home at some point, but it’s a pain to stop the bike safely somewhere with a proper left incline for the side stand, then take out the helmet, the gloves, the phone, etc. etc. This whole process takes too much time and stop my momentum. I’d rather absorb the scenery with my senses, my eyes are my camera, my emotions are  raw and present, my feelings give me instant gratification, I’m swallowing it whole.

 I’m loving the colors, the smells, the bumps of the road, the hills, the valleys, the mountains, the fields, the cows I see along, the great birds of prey in the sky. There are so many buzzards over this land, they’re circling menacingly high above my head but their flights are majestuous. I see them hugging thermals, barely ever moving their wings, kite like they are, looking for carrion no doubt those bastards, well they fit a purpose disposing of wasted small animals lives, feeding on roadkills…. Didn’t see many other species of fauna so far, a few white herons, a couple of lost seagulls, that’s about it. 

The weather has been kind, not a drop of rain since San Diego. The temperature has increased dramatically heading south, checking periodically on America’s dial, we hit 92F on the way to Oaxaca. I’ve now ditched my too heavy riding gear and strapped the jacket and pants above my bags behind me. I’m just wearing jeans and t-shirt and it’s fine, still in my ski boots though, I guess I need protection for my ankles, learned a lesson there in Creel…

The grass is becoming more of a brownish color, a little red on top, going from Swedish hair to Irish, burned a bit by this relentless sun above. 

Oaxaca was a delightful stopover, I had booked a cute and centrally located small hotel, drove right in the courtyard, and had a delicious fish and Mariscos dish right next door. This restaurant was quite famous, it was full and the service was awesome, cute young waitresses in white working very efficiently, that was quite a find. I had wanted to sample the real Oaxacan specialty, the mole, but when I was told that they only served seafood, I gave up on the mole, I was too tired to search for it on America and decided to sit down and didn’t regret it one bit. 

The hotel was across a big enclosed market with all kinds of colorful food booths, and the next morning I wandered its alleys and settled for a very healthy smoothie with all kind of fruits and goodies such as antioxidants and spirulina or whatever they told me it’s good for you! So that’s all I remember from Oaxaca, I might just have to come back some day, ok my lovely wife?

Looking at the map, the distance to Puerto Escondido was only 161 miles, but it also showed 5 and a half hours? That couldn’t be right, right? No Autopista alternative was available either, Libre roads only, well let’s save some money was I thinking smiling. The smiles didn’t last too long. Gradually the mountains appeared, the road became thinner and curvier, and steeper and steeper, holly Molly, this became a challenge!

It went on and on and on, climbing a mountain and descending the other way, with the sharpest curbs one after the other, no breathing room in between, in forests, non-stop, in the shade on the way up and in the sun on the way down or vice versa. And the toppes, those damn reductors of velocidad as they call it here, we call them speed bumps or humps, they’re the scourge of the Mexican road system! It’s probably the only way they found to slow drivers down,  and it sure looks like Mexicans consider speed limit signs as suggestions only. They have toppes at every approach to any village, or crossroads or even  makeshift stores on the side of the road… They’re everywhere in cities,  in front of every pedestrian crosswalk, near schools, near churches, sometimes 4 in a row, for what purpose I wonder. Most of the times, they are announced by a sign on a yellow post depicting a car going up over a large bump, and I notice white thin stripes painted  across the road a few yards before you get to it but then sometimes, nothing alerts you and boom! You’re sent flying over it…  Whenever there is a cluster of houses or huts or stalls, bang, there goes your toppe, and on that fateful road 175, aye aye aye, they really don’t want you to go fast! So with the ups and downs, the never ending steep mountains and the tight turns at every corner, for hours on end I was shifting gear every five or ten seconds, from 3rd to 4th mostly, but very often down to second gear, yes, you’d have to go real slow sir or you die! It took for ever, my palms were blood red because of the pressure on the handlebars, I tried to remember to relax on the  handles, to breathe and go slower, to brake evenly, front and back simultaneously, man that was hard work… Finally I got on the flat, but only about 35 miles away from the sea and the port I was so longing to reach! What a relief, I sighted with happiness and a misplaced sense of accomplishment when I got to my hotel. A hot shower and a cold cervesa were needed, much appreciated and well deserved.

I had been texting with this young Québécois who found my postings in the Mexico Motorcyclists online forum, and we made plans to have dinner near my hotel downtown. The idea was that maybe we would ride together a bit toward  Central America, but it turned out he was with a bunch of Canadian friends and enjoying his time in Puerto Escondido quite a bit, so we may see each other again maybe in Guatemala, maybe not. For now, I’m still flying solo, and you know what? I love it…

Tomorrow I’m jumping out of an airplane over this magnificent ocean, and I’ll be landing on the beach! Yeay… Life is good.